


Drowning in Sorrow

by Mishka10



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Jaskier is sad, M/M, Sad times, post ep 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23944063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishka10/pseuds/Mishka10
Summary: 'he cannot speak. His attempts have left him with half mumbled words, with lyrics caught in his throat, everything he wants to say stuck hanging unspoken in the space before him.  He can feel the words, heavy in the air, pushing down upon him. They form a hard weight, settled against his chest, pressing, crushing down, his lungs contracting, struggling under the pressure.'Basically just a character study of Jaskier making his way back down the mountain
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Kudos: 34





	Drowning in Sorrow

He can’t speak. Not to himself nor anyone else. Not that there was anyone else to speak to, on the long lonely trek back down the mountain. Not anymore anyway.

He wants to, he has tried to. Tried to talk, aimlessly, distract himself with song, cry, scream, beg. Anything. But he cannot speak. His attempts have left him with half mumbled words, with lyrics caught in his throat, everything he wants to say stuck hanging unspoken in the space before him. He can feel the words, heavy in the air, pushing down upon him. They form a hard weight, settled against his chest, pressing, crushing down, his lungs contracting, struggling under the pressure. It’s too much, too much needing to get out, too much needing to be held in. He is worried it will somehow crush him; the twisting weight of words unsaid.

Then. One misplaced step, luck entrusted to the wrong rock and he stumbles, ankle twisting painfully.

He sucks in a breath, this neither the time nor place to fight with the silent words welling up in the bottom of his throat.

He has more important things to focus on.

He wishes he could focus on them; wishes he could focus on anything else. Let himself be taken by the concentration it would take to safely navigate his way down the rocky path. His mind, bouncing forward, planning three steps ahead, no room for anything else, just letting himself plan and move and be.

If not that then perhaps he could focus on the twinge in his ankle, slight, but present. It was not broken yet by any means, but with extended use- he just hopes it will not be too swollen before he finally stops for the night. He wishes he could focus on the first inklings of rain, scattered droplets, cold against his skin. Any other time they might feel like knifes, biting into his exposed flesh. But now he is numb to the rain, numb to the cry of his twisted and tired muscles, to the dusty and untrustworthy path before him.

He is aware of it, aware of the cold, the rain, the dust. Aware of the journey ahead. Some part of him still having the sense to keep him moving, legs raising and falling, even if care wasn’t given to where he stepped, he is still stepping, moving forward, onward. Away.

But none of it mattered, none of it truly registering in his brain, all he felt was the weight. The weight of everything left unspoken between them. the weight of sorrow, pooling deep in his heart, burning in his chest. The weight building behind his eyes, pushing, stinging, threatening to overspill.

He feels it as though he is drowning beneath it, as though the crushing pressure would shut down his lungs, filling them with grief, until there was nothing left, no room for air, no room for life.

He opens his mouth. He wants to scream, to force out the clogged pile of words and bile building in his throat. expel it from his body so he would be free to breathe once more. Free to breathe and talk and sing as he pleased. But no words came, no scream, no sound. No noise brakes from his chapped lips, despite how much he wants it to. It is as though his lungs were unable to push out the sound, unable to expand enough to allow him the chance to scream. They shuttered and constricted, refusing to work as he needed them to.

He breathes in deeply, desperately trying to fill his chest, fill his body with something other than the pressing weight of sorrow. Suddenly he felt his throat spasm, coughing and spluttering around inhaled dust. He doubles over, gasping until he gets his breathing under control again.

As he stands, gasping, he feels something else finally pushing its way out of his chest. It was as though the dam had been broken, the coughing cracking the seal across his throat, unburdened sobs now flowing freely from his lips.

He stands up, still gasping and sobbing, cries pouring out of him. He feels the pressure behind his eyes boil over to join in the outburst, large, hot tears squeezing out and trailing down his face, making tracks in the thin layer of dust coating his skin. They feel hot enough to burn against his chilled skin.

Above him the sky crackles and grumbles in agreement. He feels the heavens open up; the light sprinkle he had been ignoring rapidly turning into a torrential downpour.

When the thunder next cracked, he threw back his head and screamed with it. The cry tearing itself from his body. He screamed out, pushing with everything he had against the sorrow, the weights baring down on him, putting all of it into the cry. It was as though he emptied his very existence into the air.

Then, drained, panting, he tipped forward once again, his stomach clenching, sore, his empty chest dragging in air. He felt a laugh bubbling up within him, let it fall from his lips. He listens as the laughter turned back into sobs.

He screams again. Weaker this time, he has less left, less to give, less to fight against. Most of it had already spilled out through his broken lips, running down his chin and disappearing into the dirt and mud below his feet.

He breathes deep, lungs pushing back against the weight of the world.

He is not ok; he does not know if or when he will be okay.

But he has found his voice, he will not drown here, on this mountain, shrouded in sorrow and grief, and for now that is achievement enough for him.

**Author's Note:**

> its sad boi hours apparently


End file.
